


The Lone Wolf's Home

by Undomiel5



Series: Servare Vitas [3]
Category: Numb3rs
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-10
Updated: 2016-10-10
Packaged: 2018-08-21 17:23:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8254094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Undomiel5/pseuds/Undomiel5
Summary: Even a lone wolf has to have a place to come back to.





	

It was near midnight when Ian unlocked the apartment door and slipped inside. Out of long-ingrained habits he scanned the visible parts of the apartment for dangers or signs of life. 

He had been away for 4 long weeks tracking a dangerous fugitive in North Dakota who was wanted by the FBI for shooting and killing two of their own. For most of that time he had been out of touch far from civilization and, thus, the reach of cell phone towers. At the beginning of the 4th week he had ended up close enough to a town to receive a text from his wife saying that she was heading out with her team on a hostage-rescue mission to South Carolina. During the next days he had been caught up with the chase as he drew ever closer to his target. Finally he had captured the fugitive and only four hours earlier had managed to return to Quantico. Once he had finished completed the bureaucratic nonsense necessary for wrapping up his case, it was past 11:30. In those ensuing hours he had repeatedly checked his phone but had found no new message from his wife. So stepping into his apartment, he did not know if she was home or not.

After closing the door quietly and double-checking the lock, Ian set down his backpack and rifle case temporarily in front of the fridge right next to the door. He stood quietly for a minute letting his eyes adjust to the extreme darkness of the apartment. Straight in front of him down the wide hall were rows of floor to ceiling windows looking over the main living space of the apartment. As snipers neither Ian nor his wife was comfortable with being that exposed. Thus, most of each window was blocked by three large bookcases. While this made the rooms less exposed, it also drastically cut down the amount of light in the apartment at night.

Once his eyes had adjusted to the darkness, it took only a few moments for Ian to pick up signs of his wife’s presence. Her favorite fleece-lined vest was draped one of the chairs at the dining room table, its white fleece clearly visible even in the darkness. Considering the current low temperatures, she would unlikely have left it behind. As he prowled further into the apartment, he saw the dark blobs that were her own backpack and rifle case lying parallel to the small couch, their dark color standing out against the lighter colored couch. Two more strides brought him to the end of the hallway. Rounding the corner he caught sight of the person whom he had been looking for and hoping to find. His wife was curled up on her side on the left side of the bed where she always slept.

He moved closer slowly, quietly, not wanting to disturb her, but yet wanting to make sure she was okay. He moved up the narrow space between her side of the bed and the closet close enough to see her face. The clock on her bedside tablet was lit in large, glowing green letters that cast an eerie light over her sleeping form. As he knelt beside her, he was concerned to see that were two small rows on butterfly bandages on her face, one high up on her forehead and the other on the left cheek. He scanned her body, searching the darkness with his eyes for any clues pointing to other injuries. With a repressed sigh of relief he found none. Seeing that the covers had slipped half-way down her torso as she slept and knowing her propensity for getting cold, Ian carefully pulled them back up around her shoulders and then smoothed a hand lightly over her dark hair. 

Moving back to the hall he grabbed his bag and rifle case and moved them out of the walking path, setting them down by his wife’s things behind the couch. As he moved around the room with noiseless steps putting essential things away and getting out of his dusty work clothes, his gaze was periodically drawn back to the bed where his wife slept on. Considering the fact that she still not stirred, he knew that she had only returned that same night and was absolutely exhausted. His wife was usually a light sleeper and would often awake when he came in the door. But exhaustion made her much harder to wake, which could be good or bad depending on circumstances.

Ian had had someone to come home to for just over a year now, but he still found it strange. For so long he had lived the life of a lone wolf hunting down fugitives for the FBI; his apartment had been the very epitome of barren and Spartan; he had frequently lived out of a duffle bag for weeks on end. He had had relationships before, but they had never lasted more than couple weeks. Few could put up with the job he did: the long absences without news, his dedication to his job. But then three years earlier he had met her, and slowly but surely she had wormed her way through his emotional defenses and stoic demeanor into his heart. A sniper herself with HRT, she understood Ian like few others could. First she had been an acquaintance, then a friend (and sometimes a student), then a girlfriend and confidant. Finally it came to the point that two years to the day after they had first met Ian found himself down on one knee. And so here they were.

Less than ten minutes after he had gotten home, Ian climbed into bed. As the bed dipped, his wife finely began to stir, the motion of the mattress penetrating through the fog of sleep. Still mostly asleep, she shifted slightly, and her head started to turn as she roused enough to start trying to look around.

Ian scooted up behind her and wrapped an arm around her waist. “Go back to sleep, Asha,” he said, “Everything’s alright. It’s just me.” His familiar voice soothed her half-formed worries, and she was soon asleep again. Ian soon followed.


End file.
